Bearclaw Valley those lions are coming, oh they're coming.

caiaphas did not hear the soft tread of astara, nor did she stir when the girl settled nearby. she did not feel the burning of her hateful stare, nor did she feel the cold as it seeped through her fur and lit her nerves on fire.

she slept the sleep of the damned, fitful and deplete of any meaningful rest. her mind wandered a harrowing landscape of the inane and the arcane; blackened towers rose and fell in her vision as her dreams spun wildly into the nether; fields of poppy red passed by her mind's eye as a shadow in the distance grew longer and longer until at last its touch reached her feet and she awoke with a start.

disoriented;

her eyes fixed blearily on the dark shape, which took time coming into view. merrick's companion. caiaphas' lips pulled back yet no snarl issued. her throat was triggerless, heavy. how had she gotten so sick, so sick? a madness had set over her, a final madness she could not outrun..

not this time.